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WITH TRUMPET AND DRUM 



BY EUGENE FIELD 



Second Book of Tales. 

Songs and Other Verse. 

The Holy Cross and Other Tales. 

The House. 

The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac. 

A Little Book of Profitable Tales. 

A Little Book of Western Verse. 

Second Book of Verse. 

Echoes from the Sabine Farm. 

Each, I vol., i6mo, $1.25. 

A Little Book of Profitable Tales. 

Cameo Edition with etched portrait. i6mo, $1.25. 

With Trumpet and Drum. 

i6mo, $1.00. 

Love Songs of Childhood. 

i6mo, $1.00. 



Songs of Childhood. 

Verses by Eugene Field. Music by Reginald 
DE KovEN, and others. Small 410, $1.00 net. 



ili) - Crumpet ^ antt ^ itum 
9^ugene^dFxel5 




1903 









Copyright, 1892, by Mary French Field. 






MANHATTAN PRESS 

474 W. BROADWAY 

NEW YORK 



This volume is made up of verse compiled from my 
« Little Book of Western Verse," my " Second Book of 
Verse," and the files of the " Chicago Daily News," the 
"Youth's Companion," and the " Ladies' Home Journal.'* 

E.F. 

Chicago, October 25, 1892. 



IVITH TRUMPET ^ND DRUM 

With big tin trumpet and little red drum. 
Marching like soldiers, the children come! 

It 's this way and that way they circle and file — 

My I but that music of theirs is fine / 
This way and that way, and after a while 
They march straight into this heart of mine! 
A sturdy old heart, but it has to succumb 
To the blare of that t7'timpet and beat of that drum / 

Come on, little people, from cot and from hall — 
This heart it hath welcome and room for you all! 
It will sing you its songs and warm you with love. 
As your dear little arms with my ar?7is intertwine ; 
It will rock you away to the dreamland above — 
Oh, a jolly old heart is this old heart of mine. 
And jollier still is it bound to become 
When you blow that big trumpet and beat that red drum ! 

So come ; thougJi I see not his dear little face 

And hear not his voice in this jubilant place, 

I knoiv he were happy to bid me enshrine 

His memory deep in my heart with your play — 
Ah me! but a love that is sweeter t/ian mine 
Holdeth my boy iit its keeping to-day ! 
And my Jieart it is lonely — so, little folk, come, 
MarcJi in and tnake merry wit/i trumpet and drum! 

EUGENE FIELD. 
Chicago, September 13, 1892. 




PAGE 

The Sugar-Plum Tree i 

Krinken 4 

The Naughty Doll 7 

Nightfall in Dordrecht 10 

Intry-Mintry 12 

PiTTYPAT AND TiPPYTOE I5 

Balow, my Bonnie i8 

The Hawthorne Children 20 

Little Blue Pigeon (Japanese Lullaby) 24 

The Lyttel Boy 26 

Teeny- Weeny 28 

Nellie 31 

Norse Lullaby 33 

Grandma's Prayer 35 

Some Time 36 

The Fire-Hangbird's Nest 38 

Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not 44 



X CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod (Dutch Lullaby) ... 46 

Gold and Love for Dearie 49 

The Peace of Christmas-Time 51 

To a Little Brook 54 

Croodlin' Doo* 58 

Little Mistress Sans-Merci 60 

Long Ago 62 

In the Firelight 64 

Cobbler and Stork (Armenian Folk-Lore) 66 

" Lollyby, lolly, Lollyby " 70 

Lizzie and the Baby 72 

At the Door 74 

Hugo's « Child at Play " 76 

Hi-Spy 77 

Little Boy Blue 78 

Father's Letter 80 

Jewish Lullaby 86 

Our Whippings 88 

The Armenian Mother (Folk-Sou^) 93 

Heigho, my Dearie 95 

To A Usurper 97 

The Bell-flower Tree 99 

Fairy and Child 102 

The Grandsire 104 

Hushaby, Sweet my Own 106 

* Cooing Dove. 



CONTENTS xi 

PAGE 

Child and Mother io8 

Medieval Eventide Song no 

Armenian Lullaby 113 

Christmas Treasures 115 

Oh, Little Child 118 

Ganderfeather's Gift 120 

Bambino (Sicilian Folk-Song) 123 

Little Homer's Slate 125 



WITH TRUMPET AND DRUM 

THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE 

HAVE you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? 
'Tis a marvel of great renown! 
It blooms on the shore of the Lollipop sea 

In the garden of Shut-Eye Town; 
The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet 

(As those who have tasted it say) 
That good little children have only to eat 
Of that fruit to be happy next day. 

When you 've got to the tree, you would have 
a hard time 

To capture the fruit which I sing; 
The tree is so tall that no person could climb 

To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing ! 



i THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE 

But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, 
And a gingerbread dog prowls below — 

And this is the way you contrive to get at 
Those sugar-plums tempting you so: 



Vou say but the word to that gingerbread dog 

And he barks with such terrible zest 
That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, 

As her swelling proportions attest. 
And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around 

From this leafy limb unto that, 
And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the 
ground — 

Hurrah for that chocolate cat! 



There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and pep- 
permint canes, 

With stripings of scarlet or gold. 
And you carry away of the treasure that rains 

As much as your apron can hold! 



THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE 3 

So come, little child, cuddle closer to me 
In your dainty white nightcap and gown. 

And I '11 rock you away to that Sugar-Plum 
Tree 
In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. 



KRINKEN 

KRiNKEN was a little child, — 
It was summer when he smiled 
Oft the hoary sea and grim 
Stretched its white arms out to him, 
Calling, " Sun-child, come to me ; 
Let me warm my heart with thee i " 
But the child heard not the sea. 

Krinken on the beach one day 

Saw a maiden Nis at play; 

Fair, and very fair, was she. 

Just a little child was he. 
" Krinken," said the maiden Nis, 
" Let me have a little kiss,— - 

Just a kiss, and go with me 

To the summer-lands that be 

Down within the silver sea." 



KRINKEN 

Krinken was a little child, 
By the maiden Nis beguiled; 
Down into the calling sea 
With the maiden Nis went he. 

But the sea calls out no more; 
It is winter on the shore, — 
Winter where that little child 
Made sweet summer when he smiled 
Though 't is summer on the sea 
Where with maiden Nis went he, — 
Summer, summer evermore, — 
It is winter on the shore, 
Winter, winter evermore. 

Of the summer on the deep 
Come sweet visions in my sleep; 
His fair face lifts from the sea, 
His dear voice calls out to me, — 
These my dreams of summer be. 

Krinken was a little child, 
By the maiden Nis beguiled; 



KRINKEN 

Oft the hoary sea and grim 
Reached its longing arms to him, 
Crying, "Sun-child, come to me; 
Let me warm my heart with thee ! " 
But the sea calls out no more; 
It is winter on the shore, — 
Winter, cold and dark and wild; 
Krinken was a little child, — 
It was summer when he smiled; 
Down he went into the sea. 
And the winter bides with me. 
Just a little child was he. 



THE NAUGHTY DOLL 

MY dolly is a dreadful care, — 
Her name is Miss Amandy; 
I dress her up and curl her hair, 

And feed her taffy candy. 
Yet heedless of the pleading voice 

Of her devoted mother, 
She will not wed her mother's choice. 
But says she '11 wed another. 

I 'd have her wed the china vase, — 

There is no Dresden rarer; 
You might go searching every place 

And never find a fairer. 
He is a gentle, pinkish youth, — 

Of that there 's no denying; 
Yet when I speak of him, forsooth, 

Amandy falls to crying! 



THE NAUGHTY DOLL 

She loves the drum — that's very plain — 

And scorns the vase so clever ; 
And weeping, vows she will remain 

A spinster doll forever ! 
The protestations of the drum 

I am convinced are hollow; 
When once distressing times should come, 

How soon would ruin follow ! 

Yet all in vain the Dresden boy 

From yonder mantel woos her; 
A mania for that vulgar toy. 

The noisy drum, imbues her! 
In vain I wheel her to and fro, 

And reason with her mildly, — 
Her waxen tears in torrents flow, 

Her sawdust heart beats wildly. 

I 'm sure that when I 'm big and tall, 
And wear long trailing dresses, 

I sha'n't encourage beaux at all 
Till mama acquiesces; 



THE NAUGHTY DOLL 

Our choice will be a suitor then 
As pretty as this vase is,— 

Oh, how we '11 hate the noisy men 
With whiskers on their faces! 



NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT 

THE mill goes toiling slowly around 
With steady and solemn creak, 
And my little one hears in the kindly sound 

The voice of the old mill speak. 
While round and round those big white wings 

Grimly and ghosthke creep, 
My little one hears that the old mill sings: 
"Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" 

The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn, 

And, over his pot of beer, 
The fisher, against the morrow's dawn. 

Lustily maketh cheer; 
He mocks at the winds that caper along 

From the far-off clamorous deep — 
But we — we love their lullaby song 

Of " Sleep, little tulip, sleep ! " 



NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT II 

Old dog Fritz in slumber sound 

Groans of the stony mart — 
To-morrow how proudly he '11 trot you round, 

Hitched to our new milk-cart! 
And you shall help me blanket the kine 

And fold the gentle sheep 
And set the herring a-soak in brine — 

But now, little tulip, sleep ! 

A Dream- One comes to button the eyes 
That wearily droop and blink, 

While the old mill buffets the frowning skies 
And scolds at the stars that wink; 

Over your face the misty wings 

Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep, 

And rocking your cradle she softly sings ^ 
'^ Sleep, little tulip, sleep!" 



INTRY-MINTRY 

WILLIE and Bess, Georgie and May — 
Once, as these children were hard at play, 
An old man, hoary and tottering, came 
And watched them playing their pretty game. 
He seemed to wonder, while standing there, 

What the meaning thereof could be — 
Aha, but the old man yearned to share 
Of the little children's innocent glee 
As they circled around with laugh and shout 
And told their rime at counting out: 
" Intry-mintry, cutrey-corn, 
Apple-seed and apple-thorn; 
Wire, brier, limber, lock, 
Twelve geese in a flock; 
Some flew east, some flew west, 
Some flew over the cuckoo's nest ! " 



INTRY-MINTRY 13 

Willie and Bess, Georgie and May — 
Ah, the mirth of that summer-day ! 
'T was Fa,ther Time who had come to share 
The innocent joy of those children there; 
He learned betimes the game they played 

And into their sport with them went he — 
How could the children have been afraid, 

Since Httle they recked whom he might be ? 
They laughed to hear old Father Time 
Mumbling that curious nonsense rime 

Of " Intry-mintry, cutrey-com, 

Apple-seed and apple-thorn; 

Wire, brier, limber, lock. 

Twelve geese in a flock; 

Some flew east, some flew west. 

Some flew over the cuckoo's nest!" 



Willie and Bess, Georgie and May, 
And joy of summer — where are they? 
The grim old man still standeth near 
Crooning the song of a far-ofl" year ; 



14 INTRY-MINTRY 

And into the winter I come alone, 

Cheered by that mournful requiem, 
Soothed by the dolorous monotone 

That shall count me off as it counted 
them — 
The solemn voice of old Father Time 
Chanting the homely nursery rime 

He learned of the children a summer mom 
When, with " apple-seed and apple-thorn," 
Life was full of the dulcet cheer 
That bringeth the grace of heaven anear — 
The sound of the little ones hard at play- 
Willie and Bess, Georgie and May. 



PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE 

ALL day long they come and go — 
Pittypat and Tippytoe; 
Footprints up and down the hall, 

Playthings scattered on the iioor, 
Finger-marks along the wall, 
Tell-tale smudges on the door — 
By these presents you shall know 
Pittypat and Tippytoe. 

How they riot at their play! 
And a dozen times a day 

In they troop, demanding bread — 

Only buttered bread will do. 
And that butter must be spread 
Inches thick with sugar too! 
And I never can say " No, 
Pittypat and Tippytoe!" 



i6 PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE 

Sometimes there are griefs to soothe, 
Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth; 
For (I much regret to say) 

Tippytoe and Pittypat 
Sometimes interrupt their play 
With an internecine spat; 
Fie, for shame! to quarrel so — 
Pittypat and Tippytoe! 

Oh the thousand worrying things 
Every day recurrent brings! 

Hands to scrub and hair to brushy 
Search for playthings gone amiss. 
Many a wee complaint to hush, 
Many a little bump to kiss; 
Life seems one vain, fleeting show 
To Pittypat and Tippytoe! 

And when day is at an end, 
There are little duds to mend: 
Little frocks are strangely torn, 

Little shoes great holes reveal, 
Little hose, but one day worn, 
Rudely yawn at toe and heel! 



PITTYPAT AND TIPPYTOE 17 

Who but you could work such woe, 
Pittypat and Tippytoe? 

But when comes this thought to me; 
"Some there are that childless be," 
Stealing to their little beds. 

With a love I cannot speak. 
Tenderly I stroke their heads — 
Fondly kiss each velvet cheek. 
God help those who do not know 
A Pittypat or Tippytoe! 

On the floor and down the hall, 

Rudely smutched upon the wall. 

There are proofs in every kind 

Of the havoc they have wrought, 
And upon my heart you 'd find 

Just such trade-marks, if you sought; 
Oh, how glad I am 't is so, 
Pittypat and Tippytoe! 



BALOW, MY BONNIE 

HUSH, bonnie, dinna greit; 
Moder will rocke her sweete,- 
Balow, my boy ! 
When that his toile ben done, 
Daddie will come anone, — 
Hush thee, my lyttel one; 
Balow, my boy). 

Gin thou dost sleepe, perchaunce 
Fayries will come to daunce, — 

Balow, my boy! 
Oft hath thy moder scene 
Moonlight and mirkland queene 
Daunce on thy slumbering een, — 

Balow, my boy! 



BALOW, MY BONNIE 19 

Then droned a bomblebee 
Saftly this songe to thee: 
"Balow, my boy!" 

And a wee heather bell, 
Pluckt from a fayry dell, 
Chimed thee this rune hersell: 
" Balow, my boy ! " 

Soe, bonnie, dinna greit; 
Moder doth rock her sweete,- 

Balow, my boy! 
Give mee thy lyttel hand, 
Moder will hold it and 
Lead thee to balow land,—* 

Balow, my boy! 



THE HAWTHORNE CHILDREN 

THE Hawthorne children — seven in all- 
Are famous friends of mine, 
And with what pleasure I recall 
How, years ago, one gloomy fall, 
I took a tedious railway line 
And journeyed by slow stages down 
Unto that sleepy seaport town 
(Albeit one worth seeing). 
Where Hildegarde, John, Henry, Fred, 
And Beatrix and Gwendolen 
And she that was the baby then — 
These famous seven, as aforesaid, 
Lived, moved, and had their being. 

The Hawthorne children gave me such 

A welcome by the sea, 
That the eight of us were soon in touch. 
And though their mother marveled much, 

Happy as larks were we I 



THE HAWTHORNE CHILDREN 21 

Egad I was a boy again 
With Henry, John, and Gwendolen ! 
And, oh ! the funny capers 
I cut with Hildegarde and Fred ! 
The pranks we heedless children played, 
The deafening, awful noise we made — 
'T would shock my family, if they read 
About it in the papers! 



The Hawthorne children all were smart; 

The girls, as I recall. 
Had comprehended every art 
Appealing to the head and heart, 

The boys were gifted, all; 
'T was Hildegarde who showed me how 
To hitch the horse and milk a cow 

And cook the best of suppers; 
With Beatrix upon the sands 
I sprinted daily, and was beat, 
While Henry stumped me to the feat 
Of walking round upon my hands 

Instead of on my " uppers." 



; THE HAWTHORNE CHILDREN 

The Hawthorne children liked me besf 

Of evenings, after tea; 
For then, by general request, 
I spun them yams about the west — 

And all involving Me! 
I represented how I 'd slain 
The bison on the gore-smeared plain, 

And divers tales of wonder 
I told of how I 'd fought and bled . 
In Injun scrimmages galore. 
Till Mrs. Hawthorne quoth " No more ! " 
And packed her darlings off to bed 

To dream of blood and thunder! 



They must have changed a deal since then : 

The misses tall and fair 
And those three lusty, handsome men. 
Would they be girls and boys again 

Were I to happen there, 
Down in that spot beside the sea 
Where we made such tumultuous glee 



THE HAWTHORNE CHILDREN 23 

In dull autumnal weather? 
Ah me! the years go swiftly by, 
And yet how fondly I recall 
The week when we were children all — 
Dear Hawthorne children, you and I — - 
Just eight of us, together! 



LITTLE BLUE PIGEON 

SLEEP, little pigeon, and fold your wings — 
Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; 
Sleep to tne singing of mother-bird swinging — 
Swinging the nest where her little one lies. 

Away out yonder I see a star— 
Silvery star with a tinkling song; 

To the soft dew falling I hear it calling — 
Calling and tinkling the night along. 

In through the window a moonbeam comes — 
Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; 

All silently creeping, it asks : " Is he sleeping — 
Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings ? " 



LITTLE BLUE PIGEON 25 

Up from the sea there floats the sob 

Of the waves that are breaking upon the 
shore, 
As though they were groaning in anguish, and 
moaning — 
Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. 

But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings — 
Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; 

Am I not singing? — see, I am swinging — 
Swinging the nest where my darling lies. 



THE LYTTEL BOY 

SOME time there ben a lyttel boy 
That wolde not renne and play, 
And helpless like that little tyke 
Ben allwais in the way. 
" Goe, make you merrie with the rest," 
His weary moder cried; 
But with a frown he catcht her gown 
And hong untill her side. 

That boy did love his moder well. 

Which spake him faire, I ween; 
He loved to stand and hold her hand 

And ken her with his een; 
His cosset bleated in the croft. 

His toys unheeded lay, — 
He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, 

Ben allwais in the way. 
26 



THE LYTTEL BOY 27 

Godde loveth children and doth gird 

His throne with soche as these, 
And he doth smile in plaisaunce while 

They cluster at his knees; 
And some time, when he looked on earth 

And watched the bairns at play, 
He kenned with joy a lyttel boy 

Ben allwais in the way. 

And then a moder felt her heart 

How that it ben to-torne. 
She kissed eche day till she ben gray 

The shoon he use to worn; 
No bairn let hold untill her gown 

Nor played upon the floore, — 
Godde's was the joy; a lyttel boy 

Ben in the way no more! 



TEENY-WEENY 

EVERY evening, after tea, 
Teeny-Weeny comes to me. 
And, astride my willing knee, 

Plies his lash and rides away; 
Though that palfrey, all too spare^ 
Finds his burden hard to bear, 
Teeny-Weeny does n't care; 
He commands, and I obey! 

First it 's trot, and gallop then; 
Now it 's back to trot again; 
Teeny-Weeny likes it when 

He is riding fierce and fast. 
Then his dark eyes brighter grow 
And his cheeks are all aglow: 
" More ! " he cries, and never " Whoa ! 
Till the horse breaks down at last. 
28 



TEENY-WEENY 

Oh, the strange and lovely sights 

Teeny- Weeny sees of nights, 

As he makes those famous flights 

On that wondrous horse of his! 
Oftentimes before he knows, 
Wearylike his eyelids close, 
And, still smiling, off he goes 

Where the land of By-low is. 

There he sees the folk of fay 
Hard at ring-a-rosie play. 
And he hears those fairies say: 
" Come, let 's chase him to and fro ! 
But, with a defiant shout. 
Teeny puts that host to rout; 
Of this tale I make no doubt, 
Every night he tells it so. 

So I feel a tender pride 
In my boy who dares to ride 
That fierce horse of his astride. 
Off into those misty lands ; 



30 TEENY-WEENY 

And as on my breast he lies, 
Dreaming in that wondrous wis£> 
I caress his folded eyes, 

Pat his Httle dimpled hands. 

On a time he went away, 
Just a Uttle while to stay, 
And I 'm not ashamed to say 

I was very lonely then; 
Life without him was so sad, 
You can fancy I was glad 
And made merry when I had 

Teeny-Weeny back again! 

So of evenings, after tea. 
When he toddles up to me 
And goes tugging at my knee, 

You should hear his palfrey neigh i 
You should see him prance and shy, 
When, with an exulting cry, 
Teeny-Weeny, vaulting high, 

Plies his lash and rides away! 



H 



NELLIE 

IS listening soul hears no echo of battle, 
No psean of triumph nor welcome of fame; 
But down through the years comes a little 
one's prattle, 
And softly he murmurs her idolized name. 
And it seems as if now at his heart she were 
clinging 
As she clung in those dear, distant years to 
his knee; 
He sees her fair face, and he hears her sweet 
singing— 
And NelUe is coming from over the sea. 

While each patriot's hope stays the fullness of 
sorrow, 
While our eyes are bedimmed and our 
voices are low, 
31 



32 NELLIE 

He dreams of the daughter who comes with 
the morrow 
Like an angel come back from the dear 
long ago. 
Ah, what to him now is a nation's emotion, 

And what for our love or our grief careth he ? 
A swift-speeding ship is a-sail on the ocean. 
And Nellie is coming from over the sea! 

O daughter — my daughter! when Death 
stands before me 
And beckons me off to that far misty shore, 
Let me see your loved form bending tenderly 
o'er me. 
And feel your dear kiss on my lips as of yore. 
In the grace of your love all my anguish abating, 
I '11 bear myself bravely and proudly as he, 
And know the sweet peace that hallowed his 
waiting 
When NelHe was coming from over the sea. 



NORSE LULLABY 

I^HE sky is dark and the hills are white 
As the storm-king speeds from the north 
to-night; 
And this is the song the storm-king sings, 
As over the world his cloak he flings: 

"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep"; 
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings: 
"Sleep, little one, sleep." 

On yonder mountain-side a vine 
Clings at the foot of a mother pine; 
The tree bends over the trembling thing, 
And only the vine can hear her sing: 
" Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep — 
What shall you fear when I am here? 
Sleep, little one, sleep." 

33 



34 NORSE LULLABY 

The king may sing in his bitter flight, 
The tree may croon to the vine to-night, 
But the Httle snowflake at my breast 
Liketh the song / sing the best — 

Sleep, sleep, httle one, sleep; 
Weary thou art, a-next my heart 

Sleep, Httle one, sleep. 



GRANDMA'S PRAYER 

1PRAY that, risen from the dead, 
I may in glory stand — 
A crown, perhaps, upon my head, 
But a needle in my hand. 

I Ve never learned to sing or play., 
So let no harp be mine; 

From birth unto my dying day, 
Plain sewing 's been my line. 

Therefore, accustomed to the end 
To plying useful stitches, 

I '11 be content if asked to mend 
The Uttle angels' breeches. 

35 



SOME TIME 

LAST night, my darling, as you slept, 
• I thought I heard you sigh, 
And to your little crib I crept, 

And watched a space thereby; 
Then, bending down, I kissed your brow- 

For, oh! I love you so — 
You are too young to know it now, 
But some time you shall know. 

Some time, when, in a darkened place 

Where others come to weep. 
Your eyes shall see a weary face 

Calm in eternal sleep; 
The speechless lips, the wrinkled brow, 

The patient smile may show — 
You are too young to know it now, 

But some time you shall know. 
36 



SOME TIME 37 

Look backward, then, into the years. 

And see me here to-night — 
See, O my darHng ! how my tears 

Are falling as I write; 
And feel once more upon your brow 

The kiss of long ago — 
You are too young to know it now. 

But some time you shall know. 



A' 



THE FIRE-HANGBIRD'S NEST 

s I am sitting in the sun upon the porch 

to-day, 
1 look with wonder at the elm that stands 

across the way; 
I say and mean " with wonder," for now it 

seems to me 
That elm is not as tall as years ago it used 

to be! 
The old fire-hangbird 's built her nest therein 

for many springs — 
High up amid the sportive winds the curious 

cradle swings, 
But not so high as when a little boy I did 

my best 
To scale that elm and carry off the old fire- 

hangbird's nest! 
38 



THE FIRE-HANGBIRD'S NEST 39 

The Hubbard boys had tried in vain to reach 
the homely prize 

That dangled from that upper outer twig in 
taunting wise, 

And once, when Deacon Turner's boy had 
almost grasped the limb. 

He fell! and had to have a doctor operate 
on him ! 

Philetus Baker broke his leg and Orrin Root 
his arm- — 

But what of that? The danger gave the 
sport a special charm! 

The Bixby and the Cutler boys, the New- 
tons and the rest 

Ran every risk to carry off the old fire-hang- 
bird's nest! 



I can remember that I used to knee my 

trousers through, 
That mother used to wonder how my legs 

got black and blue, 



40 THE FIRE-HANGB!RD'S NEST 

And how she used to talk to me and make 

stern threats when she 
Discovered that my hobby was the nest in 

yonder tree; 
How, as she patched my trousers or greased 

my purple legs, 
She told me 't would be wicked to destroy a 

hangbird's eggs, 
A.nd then she 'd call on father and on gran'pa 

to attest 
That they, as boys, had never robbed an old 

fire-hangbird's nest! 



Yet all those years I coveted the trophy flaunt- 
ing there, 

While, as it were in mockery of my abject 
despair. 

The old fire-hangbird confidently used to 
come and go, 

As if she were indifferent to the bandit horde 
below ! 



THE FIRE-HANGBIRD'S NEST 41 

And sometimes clinging to her nest we thought 

we heard her chide 
The callow brood whose cries betrayed the 

fear that reigned inside : 
" Hush, Httle dears ! all profitless shall be their 

wicked quest — 
I knew my business when I built the old fire- 

hangbird's nest ! " 



For many, very many years that mother-bird 
has come 

To rear her pretty little brood within that cozy 
home. 

She is the selfsame bird of old — I 'm certain 
it is she — 

Although the chances are that she has quite 
forgotten me. 

Just as of old that prudent, crafty bird of com- 
pound name 

(And in parenthesis I '11 say her nest is still 
the same); 



42 THE FIRE-HANGBIRD'S NEST 

Just as of old the passion, too, that fires the 

youthful breast 
To dimb unto and comprehend the old fire- 

hangbird's nest 1 



I like to see my old-time friend swing in that 

ancient tree. 
And, if the elm 's as tall and sturdy as it used 

to be, 
I 'm sure that many a year that nest shall in 

the breezes blow. 
For boys are n't what they used to be a forty 

years ago ! 
The elm looks shorter than it did when bro- 
ther Rufe and I 
Beheld with envious hearts that trophy flaunted 

from on high; 
He writes that in the city where he 's living 

'way out West 
His little boys have never seen an old fire- 

hangbird's nest! 



THE FIRE-HANGBIRD'S NEST 43 

Poor little chaps! how lonesomelike their city 

life must be — 
1 wish they 'd come and live awhile in this 

old house with me! 
They 'd have the honest friends and healthful 

sports I used to know 
When brother Rufe and I were boys a forty 

years ago. 
So, when they grew from romping lads to 

busy, useful men, 
They could recall with proper pride their 

country life again; 
And of those recollections of their youth I 'm 

sure the best 
Would be of how they sought in vain the olc^ 

fire-hanojbird's nest! 



BUTTERCUP, POPPY, FORGET- 
ME-NOT 

BUTTERCUP, Poppy, Forget-me-not — 
These three bloomed in a garden spot; 
And once, all merry with song and play, 
A little one heard three voices say: 
"Shine and shadow, summer and spring, 
O thou child with the tangled hair 
And laughing eyes! we three shall bring 
Each an offering passing fair." 
The little one did not understand, 
But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand. 

Buttercup gamboled all day long. 
Sharing the httle one's mirth and song; 
Then, stealing along on misty gleams, 
Poppy came bearing the sweetest dreams. 



BUTTERCUP, POPPY, FORGET-ME-NOT 45 

Playing and dreaming — and that was all 
Till once a sleeper would not awake; 
Kissing the little face under the pall, 
We thought of the words the third flower 
spake; 
And we found betimes in a hallowed spot 
The solace and peace of Forget-me-not. 

Buttercup shareth the joy of day, 
Glinting with gold the hours of play; 
Bringeth the poppy sweet repose, 
When the hands would fold and the eyes 
would close; 
And after it all — the play and the sleep 

Of a little hfe — what cometh then? 
To the hearts that ache and the eyes that 
weep 
A new flower bringeth God's peace again. 
Each one serveth its tender lot— 
Buttercup, Poppy, Forget-me-not. 



WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD 

WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night 
Sailed off in a wooden shoe — 
Sailed on a river of crystal light, 
Into a sea of dew. 
"Where are you going, and what do you 
wish ? " 
The old moon asked the three. 
"We have come to fish for the herring fish 
That live in this beautiful sea; 
Nets of silver and gold have we ! " 
Said Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sang a song, 
As they rocked in the wooden shoe. 

And the wind that sped them all night long 
Ruffled the waves of dew. 
46 



WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD 47 

The little stars were the herring fish 
That lived in that beautiful sea — 
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish — 
Never afeard are we " ; 
So cried the stars to the fishermen three: 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 



All night long their nets they threw 

To the stars in the twinkling foam — 
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, 

Bringing the fishermen home; 
'T was all so pretty a sail it seemed 

As if it could not be, 
And some folks thought 't was a dream they'd 
dreamed 
Of sailing that beautiful sea—' 
But I shall name you the fishermen three: 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 



48 WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head, 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed. 
So shut your eyes while mother sings 

Of wonderful sights that be, 
And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock in the misty sea, 
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen 
three : 

Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 



GOLD AND LOVE FOR DEARIE 

OUT on the mountain over the town, 
All night long, all night long, 
The trolls go up and the trolls go down, 

Bearing their packs and singing a song; 
And this is the song the hill-folk croon. 
As they trudge in the light of the misty 

moon — 
This is ever their dolorous tune: 
" Gold, gold ! ever more gold — 

Bright red gold for dearie!" 

Deep in the hill a father delves 
All night long, all night long; 

None but the peering, furtive elves 
Sees his toil and hears his song; 

49 



50 GOLD AND LOVE FOR DEARIE 

Merrily ever the cavern rings 
As merrily ever his pick he swings, 
And merrily ever this song he sings: 
" Gold, gold ! ever more gold — 

Bright red gold for dearie!" 

Mother is rocking thy lowly bed 
All night long, all night long, 
Happy to smooth thy curly head, 

To hold thy hand and to sing her *song : 
'Tis not of the hill-folk dwarfed and old, 
Nor the song of thy father, stanch and bola- 
And the burthen it beareth is not of gold. 
But it 's "Love, love! nothing but love^ 
Mother's love for dearie ! " 



THE PEACE OF CHRISTMAS-TIME 

DEAREST, how hard it is to say 
That all is for the best, 
Since, sometimes, in a grievous way- 
God's will is manifest. 

See with what hearty, noisy glee 

Our little ones to-night 
Dance round and round our Christmas tree 

With pretty toys bedight. 

Dearest, one voice they may not hear. 

One face they may not see— 
Ah, what of all this Christmas cheer 

Cometh to you and me ? 



52 THE PEACE OF CHRISTMAS -TIME 

Cometh before our misty eyes 

That other little face, 
And we clasp, in tender, reverent wise; 

That love in the old embrace. 



Dearest, the Christ-Child walks to-night. 

Bringing his peace to men, 
A.nd he bringeth to you and to me the light 

Of the old, old years again. 



Bringeth the peace of long ago, 
When a wee one clasped your knee 

.And lisped of the morrow — dear one, you 
know — 
And here come back is he ! 



Dearest, 't is sometimes hard to say 

That all is for the best. 
For, often, in a grievous way 

God's will is manifest. 



THE PEACE OF CHRISTMAS-TIME 53 

But in the grace of this holy night 
That bringeth us back our child, 

Let us see that the ways of God are right, 
And so be reconciled. 



TO A LITTLE BROOK 

You *RE not so big as you were then, 
.. O little brook! — 
I mean those hazy summers when 
We boys roamed, full of awe, beside 
Your noisy, foaming, tumbling tide, 
And wondered if it could be true 
That there were bigger brooks than you, 
O mighty brook, O peerless brook! 

All up and down this reedy place 

Where lives the brook, 
We angled for the furtive dace; 
The redwing-blackbird did his best 
To make us think he 'd built his nest 
Hard by the stream, when, like as not. 
He 'd hung it in a secret spot 

Far from the brook, the telltale brook 1 



TO A LITTLE BROOK 55 

And often, when the noontime heat 

Parboiled the brook, 
We 'd draw our boots and swing our feet 
Upon the waves that, in their play, 
Would tag us last and scoot away; 
And mother never seemed to know 
What burnt our legs and chapped them so — 

But father guessed it was the brook! 



And Fido — how he loved to swim 

The cooling brook, 
Whenever we 'd throw sticks for him; 
And how we boys did wish that we 
Could only swim as good as he — 
Why, Daniel Webster never was 
Recipient of such great applause 

As Fido, battling with the brook! 



But once — O most unhappy day 

For you, my brook! — 
Came Cousin Sam along that way; 



56 TO A LITTLE BROOK 

And, having lived a spell out West, 
Where creeks are n't counted much at best, 
He neither waded, swam, nor leapt, 
But, with superb indifference, stept 

Across that brook — our mighty brook! 

Why do you scamper on your way, 

You little brook. 
When I come back to you to-day? 
Is it because you flee the grass 
That lunges at you as you pass, 
As if, in playful mood, it would 
Tickle the truant if it could. 

You chuckling brook — you saucy brook? 

Or is it you no longer know — 

You fickle brook — 
The honest friend of long ago ? 
The years that kept us twain apart 
Have changed my face, but not my heart— 
Many and sore those years, and yet 
T. fancied you could not forget 

That happy time, my playmate brook! 



TO A LITTLE BROOK 57 

Oh, sing again in artless glee, 

My little brook, 
The song you used to sing for me — 
The song that 's lingered in my ears 
So soothingly these many years; 
My grief shall be forgotten when 
I hear your tranquil voice again 

And that sweet song, dear little brook! 



H 



CROODLIN' DOO 

■ o, pretty bee, did you see my croodlin' doo ? 

Ho, little lamb, is she jinkin' on the lea? 

Ho, bonnie fairy, bring my dearie back 

to me — 

Got a lump o' sugar an' a posie for you, 

Only bring me back my wee, wee croodlin' doo ! 

Why! here you are, my litde croodlin' doo! 
Looked in er cradle, but did n't find you 

there — 
Looked f'r my wee, wee croodlin' doo 
ever' where; 
Be'n kind lonesome all er day withouten you — 
Where you be'n, my teeny, wee, wee croodlin' 
doo? 

s8 



CROODLIN' DOO 59 

Now you go balow, my little croodlin' doo; 
Now you go rockaby ever so far, — 
Rockaby, rockaby up to the star 
That 's winkin' an' blinkin' an' singin' to you, 
As you go balow, my wee, wee croodlin' doo) 



LITTLE MISTRESS SANS-MERCI 

LITTLE Mistress Sans-Merci 
J Fareth world-wide, fancy free: 
Trotteth cooing to and fro, 

And her cooing is command — 
Never ruled there yet, I trow, 
Mightier despot in the land. 
And my heart it Heth where 
Mistress Sans-Merci doth fare. 

Little Mistress Sans-Merci — 
She hath made a slave of me! 
"Go," she biddeth, and I go — 
"Come," and I am fain to come — 
Never mercy doth she show. 
Be she wroth or frolicsome. 
Yet am I content to be 
Slave to Mistress Sans-Merci! 
60 



LITTLE MISTRESS SANS-MERCI 6 1 

Little Mistress Sans-Merci 
Hath become so dear to me 
That I count as passing sweet 

All the pain her moods impart, 
And I bless the little feet 

That go trampling on my heart: 
Ah, how lonely life would be 
But for little Sans-Merci ! 

Little Mistress Sans-Merci, 
Cuddle close this night to me, 
And the heart, which all day long 

Ruthless thou hast trod upon. 
Shall outpour a soothing song 
For its best beloved one — 
All its tenderness for thee. 
Little Mistress Sans-Merci! 



LONG AGO 

10NCE knew all the birds that came 
And nested in our orchard trees, 
For every flower I had a name — 

My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees; 
I knew where thrived in yonder glen 

What plants would soothe a stone-bruised 
toe — 
Oh, I was very learned then, 
But that was very long ago. 

I knew the spot upon the hill 

Where checkerberries could be found, 

I knew the rushes near the mill 

Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! 



LONG AGO 63 

I knew the wood — the very tree 

Where lived the poachingj saucy crow, 

And all the woods and crows knew me — 
But that was very long ago. 

And pining for the joys of youth, 

I tread the old familiar spot 
Only to learn this solemn truth: 

I have forgotten, am forgot. 
Yet here 's this youngster at my knee 

Knows all the things I used to know« 
To think I once was wise as he! — 

But that was very long ago. 

I know it 's folly to complain 

Of whatsoe'er the fates decree, 
Yet, were not wishes all in vain, 

I tell you what my wish should be: 
I *d wish to be a boy again. 

Back with the friends I used to know. 
For I was, oh, so happy then — 

But that was very long ago! 



IN THE FIRELIGHT 

THE fire upon the hearth is low, 
And there is stillness everywhere, 
And, like wing'd spirits, here and there 
The firehght shadows fluttering go. 
And as the shadows round me creep, 
A childish treble breaks the gloom, 
And softly fi"om a further room 
Comes : " Now I lay me down to sleep." 

And, somehow, with that little prayer 
And that sweet treble in my ears, 
My thought goes back to distant years, 

And lingers with a dear one there; 
64 



IN THE FIRELIGHT 65 

And as I hear my child's amen, 

My mother's faith comes back to me — 
Crouched at her side I seem to be, 

And mother holds my hands again. 

Oh, for an hour in that dear place — 

Oh, for the peace of that dear time— 
Oh, for that childish trust sublime — 

Oh, for a glimpse of mother's face! 

Yet, as the shadows round me creep, 
I do not seem to be alone — 
Sweet magic of that treble tone 

And " Now I lay me down to sleep ! '' 



COBBLER AND STORK 

Cobbler. 
Stork, I am justly wroth, 

For thou hast wronged me sore; 
The ash roof- tree that shelters thee 

Shall shelter thee no more! 

Stork. 
Full fifty years I 've dwelt 

Upon this honest tree, 
And long ago (as people know!) 

I brought thy father thee. 
What hail hath chilled thy heart, 

That thou shouldst bid me go ? 
Speak out, I pray — then I '11 away. 

Since thou commandest so. 

66 



COBBLER AND STORK 6j 

Cobbler. 
Thou tellest of the time 

When, wheehng from the west, 
This hut thou sought'st and one 
thou brought'st 

Unto a mother's breast. 
/ was the wretched child 

Was fetched that dismal morn— 
'T were better die than be (as I) 

To life of misery born ! 
And hadst thou borne me on 

Still farther up the town, 
A king I 'd be of high degree, 

And wear a golden crown! 
For yonder lives the prince 

Was brought that selfsame day: 
How happy he, while — look at me! 

I toil my life away ! 
And see my little boy — 

To what estate he 's born ! 
Why, when I die no hoard leave I 

But poverty and scorn. 
And thou hast done it all — 



68 COBBLER AND STORK 

I might have been a king 
And ruled in state, but for thy hate, 
Thou base, perfidious thing ! 



Stork. 
Since, cobbler, thou dost speak 

Of one thou lovest well, 
Hear of that king what grievous thing 

This very morn befell. 
Whilst round thy homely bench 

They well-beloved played, 
In yonder hall beneath a pall 

A little one was laid; 
Thy well-beloved's face 

Was rosy with delight, 
But 'neath that pall in yonder hall 

The little face is white; 
Whilst by a merry voice 

Thy soul is filled with cheer. 
Another weeps for one that sleeps 

All mute and cold anear; 
One father hath his hope, 



COBBLER AND STORK 69 

And one is childless now; 
He wears a crown and rules a town— « 

Only a cobbler thou I 
Wouldst thou exchange thy lot 

At price of such a woe ? 
I '11 nest no more above thy door, 

But, as thou bidst me, go. 

Cobbler. 
Nay, stork! thou shalt remain — 

I mean not what I said; 
Good neighbors we must always be, 

So make thy home o'erhead. 
I would not change my bench 

For any monarch's throne. 
Nor sacrifice at any price 

My darling and my own! 
Stork! on my roof-tree bide. 

That, seeing thee anear, 
I '11 thankful be God sent by thee 

Me and my darling here ! 



'^LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" 

LAST night, whiles that the curfew bell ben 
J ringing, 

I heard a moder to her dearie singing 

"Lollyby, lolly, lollyby"; 
And presently that chylde did cease hys weeping, 
And on his moder's breast did fall a-sleeping 
To "lolly, lolly, lollyby." 

Faire ben the chylde unto his moder clinging, 
But fairer yet the moder's gentle singing — 

"Lollyby, lolly, lollyby"; 
And angels came and kisst the dearie smiling 
In dreems while him hys moder ben beguiHng 
With "lolly, lolly, lollyby." 



'^LOLLYBY, LOLLY, LOLLYBY" 71 

Then to my harte sales I : " Oh, that thy 

beating 
Colde be assuaged by some sweete voice re- 
peating 
'Lollyby, lolly, lollyby'; 
That like this lyttel chylde I, too, ben sleeping 
With plaisaunt phantasies about me creeping, 
To 'lolly, lolly, lollyby ' ! " 

Some time — mayhap when curfew bells are 

ringing— 
A. weary harte shall heare straunge voices 

singing 

"Lollyby, lolly, lollyby"; 
Some time, mayhap, with Chryst's love round 

me streaming, 
I shall be lulled into eternal dreeming, 
With "lolly, lolly, lollyby." 



LIZZIE AND THE BABY 

1 WONDER ef all wimmin air 
Like 'Lizzie is when we go out 
To theaters an' concerts where 

Is things the papers talk about. 
Do other wimmin fret an' stew 

Like they wuz bein' crucified — 
Frettin' a show or concert through, 
With wonderin' ef the baby cried ? 

Now Lizzie knows that gran'ma 's there 
To see that everything is right, 

Yet Lizzie thinks that gran'ma's care 
Ain't good enuff fr baby, quite; 

Yet what am I to answer when 
She kind uv fidgets at my side, 

An' asks me every now and then: 

" I wonder if the baby cried ? " 
.72 



LIZZIE AND THE BABY 73 

Seems like she seen two little eyes 

A-pinin' fr their mother's smile — 
Seems like she heern the pleadin' cries 

Uv one she thinks uv all the while; 
An' so she 's sorry that she come, 

An' though she alius tries to hide 
The truth, she 'd ruther stay to hum 

Than wonder ef the baby cried. 

Yes, wimmin folks is all alike — 

By Lizzie you kin jedge the rest; 
There never wuz a little tyke, 

But that his mother loved him best. 
And nex' to bein' what I be — 

The husband uv my gentle bride — 
I 'd wisht I wuz that croodlin' wee, 

With Lizzie wonderin' ef I cried. 



AT THE DOOR 

1 THOUGHT myself, indeed, secure 
So fast the door, so firm the lock; 
But, lo! he toddling comes to lure 
My parent ear with timorous knock. 

My heart were stone could it withstand 

The sweetness of my baby's plea, — 
That timorous, baby knocking and 
"Please let me in, — it 's only me." 

I threw aside the unfinished book, 
Regardless of its tempting charms, 

And, opening wide the door, I took 
My laughing darling in my arms. 

74 



AT THE DOOR 75 

Who knows but in Eternity, 

I, like a truant child, shall wait 

The glories of a life to be, 

Beyond the Heavenly Father's gate ? 

And will that Heavenly Father heed 

The truant's supplicating cry, 
As at the outer door I plead, 
«'T is I, O Father! only I?" 



HTTGO'S "CHILD AT PLAY" 

t 

A CHILD was singing at his play — 
I heard the song, and paused to hear; 
His mother moaning, groaning lay, 
And, lo! a specter stood anear! 

The child shook sunlight from his hair, 
And caroled gaily all day long — 

Aye, with that specter gloating there, 
The innocent made mirth and song ! 

How like to harvest fruit wert thou, 
O sorrow, in that dismal room — 

God ladeth not the tender bough 

Save with the joy of bud and bloom! 
26 



HI-SPY 

STRANGE that the city thoroughfare, 
Noisy and busthng all the day, 
Should with the night renounce its care 
And lend itself to children's play! 

Oh, girls are girls, and boys are boys, 
And have been so since Abel's birth, 

And shall be so till dolls and toys 
Are with the children swept from earth. 

The selfsame sport that crowns the day 
Of many a Syrian shepherd's son, 

Beguiles the little lads at play 
By night in stately Babylon. 

I hear their voices in the street, 

Yet 't is so different now from then! 

Come, brother! from your winding-sheet, 
And let us two be boys again ! 

77 



LITTLE BOY BLUE 

THE little toy dog is covered with dust, 
But sturdy and stanch he stands; 
And the little toy soldier is red with rust, 

And his musket molds in his hands. 
Time was when the little toy dog was new, 

And the soldier was passing fair; 
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue 
Kissed them and put them there. 

" Now, don't you go till I come," he said, 
" And don't you make any noise ! '* 
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed, 

He dreamt of the pretty toys ; 
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song 

Awakened our Little Boy Blue — 
Oh! the years are many, the years are long, 
But the little toy friends are true! 
78 



LITTLE BOY BLUt 79 

Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, 

Each in the same old place — 
Awaiting the touch of a little hand, 

The smile of a little face; 
And they wonder, as waiting the long years 
through 

In the dust of that little chair. 
What has become of our Little Boy Blue, 

Since he kissed them and put them there. 



FATHER'S LETTER 

I'm going to write a letter to our oldest boy 
who went 
Out West last spring to practise law and run 

for president; 
I '11 tell him all the gossip I guess he 'd like 

to hear, 
For he has n't seen the home-folks for going 

on a year! 
Most generally it 's Marthy does the writing, 

but as she 
Is suffering with a felon, why, the job devolves 

on me — 
So, when the supper things are done and put 

away to-night, 
I '11 draw my boots and shed my coat and 

settle down to write. 
80 



FATHER'S LETTER 8i 

I '11 tell him crops are looking up, with pros- 
pects big for corn, 

That, fooling with the barnyard gate, the off- 
ox hurt his horn; 

That the Templar lodge is doing well — Tim 
Bennett joined last week 

When the prohibition candidate for Congress 
came to speak; 

That the old gray woodchuck 's living still 
down in the pasture-lot, 

A- wondering what 's become of little William, 
like as not! 

Oh, yes, there 's lots of pleasant things and 
no bad news to tell. 

Except that old Bill Graves was sick, but now 
he 's up and well. 

Cy Cooper says — (but I '11 not pass my word 

that it is so. 
For Cy he is some punkins on spinning yarns, 

you know) — 
He says that, since the freshet, the pickerel 

are so thick 



82 FATHER'S LETTER 

In Baker's pond you can wade in and kill 
'em with a stick! 

The Hubbard girls are teaching school, and 
Widow Cutler's Bill 

Has taken Eli Baxter's place in Luther East- 
man's mill; 

Old Deacon Skinner's dog licked Deacon 
Howard's dog last week, 

And now there are two lambkins in one flock 
that will not speak. 

The yellow rooster froze his feet, a-wadin' 

through the snow, 
And now he leans agin the fence when he 

starts in to crow; 
The chestnut colt that was so skittish when 

Jie went away — 
I 've broke him to the sulky and I drive him 

every day! 
We 've got pink window curtains for the front 

spare-room up-stairs, 
And Lizzie 's made new covers for the parlor 

lounge and chairs ; 



FATHER'S LETTER 83 

We 've roofed the barn and braced the elm 
that has the hangbird's nest — 

Oh, there 's been lots of changes since our 
William went out West! 



Old Uncle Enos Packard is getting mighty 
gay— 

He gave Miss Susan Birchard a peach the 
other day! 

His late lamented Sarah hain't been buried 
quite a year, 

So his purring 'round Miss Susan causes criti- 
cism here. 

At the last donation party, the minister opined 

That, if he 'd half suspicioned what was com- 
ing, he 'd resigned; 

For, though they brought him slippers like he 
was a centipede, 

His pantry was depleted by the consequential 
feed! 

These are the things I '11 write him — our boy 
that 's in the West; 



84 FATHER'S LETTER 

And I '11 tell him how we miss him — his 

mother and the rest; 
Why, we never have an apple-pie that mother 

does n't say: 
''''He liked it so — I wish that he could have 

a piece to-day ! " 
I '11 tell him we are prospering, and hope he 

is the same — 
That we hope he '11 have no trouble getting 

on to wealth and fame; 
And just before I write " good-by from father 

and the rest," 
I '11 say that "mother sends her love," and 

that will please him best. 

For when / went away from home, the weekly 

news I heard 
Was nothing to the tenderness I found in that 

one word — > 
The sacred name of mother — why, even now 

as then. 
The thought brings back the saintly face, the 

gracious love again; 



FATHER'S LETTER 85 

And in my bosom seems to come a peace that 

is divine, 
As if an angel spirit communed a while with 

mine; 
And one man's heart is strengthened by the 

message from above, 
A-nd earth seems nearer heaven when " mother 

sends her love." 



JEWISH LULLABY 

MY harp is on the willow-tree, 
Else would I sing, O love, to thee 
A song of long-ago — 
Perchance the song that Miriam sung 
Ere yet Judea's heart was wrung 
By centuries of woe. 

I ate my crust in tears to-day. 

As scourged I went upon my way — 

And yet my darling smiled; 
Aye, beating at my breast, he laughed — 
My anguish curdled not the draught — 

'T was sweet with love, my child! 



JEWISH LULLABY S7 

The shadow of the centuries lies 
Deep in thy dark and mournful eye 

But, hush ! and close them now ', 
And in the dreams that thou shalt drran? 
The light of other days shall seem 

To glorify thy brow! 

Our harp is on the willow-tree — 
I have no song to sing to thee, 

As shadows round us roll; 
But, hush and sleep, and thou shalt hear 
Jehovah's voice that speaks to cheer 

Judea's fainting soul ! 



OUR WHIPPINGS 

COME, Harvey, let us sit a while and talk 
about the times 
Before you went to selling clothes and I to 

peddling rimes — 
The days when we were little boys, as naughty 

little boys 
As ever worried home-folks with their ever- 
lasting noise! 
Egad ! and, were we so disposed, I '11 venture 

we could show 
The scars of wallopings we got some forty 

years ago; 
What wallopings I mean I think I need not 

specify — 
Mother's whippings did n't hurt, but father's! 

oh, my ! 



OUR WHIPPINGS 89 

The way that we played hookey those many 

years ago — 
We 'd rather give 'most anything than have 

our children know! 
The thousand naughty things we did, the 

thousand fibs we told — 
Why, thinking of them makes my presbyte- 

rian blood run cold! 
How often Deacon Sabine Morse remarked 

if we were his 
He 'd tan our " pesky little hides until the 

blisters riz ! " 
It 's many a hearty thrashing to that Deacon 

Morse we owe — 
Mother's whippings did n't count — father's did, 

though ! 

We used to sneak off swimmin' in those care- 
less, boyish days, 

And come back home of evenings with our 
necks and backs ablaze; 

How mother used to wonder why our clothes 
were full of sand, 



90 OUR WHIPPINGS 

But father, having been a boy, appeared to 
understand. 

And, after tea, he 'd beckon us to join him 
in the shed 

Where he 'd proceed to tinge our backs a 
deeper, darker red; 

Say what we will of mother's, there is none 
will controvert 

The proposition that our father's lickings al- 
ways hurt! 

For mother was by nature so forgiving and 

so mild 
That she inclined to spare the rod although 

she spoiled the child; 
And when at last in self-defense she had to 

whip us, she 
Appeared to feel those whippings a great deal 

more than we ! 
But how we bellowed and took on, as if we 'd 

like to die — 
Poor mother really thought she hurt, and that 's 

what made her cry! 



OUR WHIPPINGS 91 

Then how we youngsters snickered as out the 

door we slid, 
For mother's whippings never hurt, though 

father's always did. 

In after years poor father simmered down to 
five feet four, 

But in our youth he seemed to us in height 
eight feet or more ! 

Oh, how we shivered when he quoth in cold, 
suggestive tone: 
" I '11 see you in the woodshed after supper all 
alone ! " 

Oh, how the legs and arms and dust and trouser 
buttons flew — 

What florid vocalisms marked that vesper inter- 
view ! 

Yes, after all this lapse of years, I feelingly assert, 

With all respect to mother, it was father's whip- 
pings hurt! 

The little boy experiencing that tingling 'neath 

his vest 
Is often loath to realize that all is for the best j 



^2 OUR WHIPPINGS 

Yet, when the boy gets older, he pictures with 

deHght 
The buffetings of childhood — as we do here 

to-night. 
The years, the gracious years, have smoothed 

and beautified the ways 
That to our little feet seemed all too rugged 

in the days 
Before you went to selling clothes and I to 

peddling rimes — 
So, Harvey, let us sit a while and think upon 

those times. 



THE ARMENIAN MOTHER 

1WAS a mother, and I weep; 
The night is come — the day is sped— 
The night of woe profound, for, oh, 
My Httle golden son is dead ! 

The pretty rose that bloomed anon 
Upon my mother breast, they stole; 

They let the dove I nursed with love 
Fly far away — so sped my soul! 

That falcon Death swooped down upon 
My sweet-voiced turtle as he sung; 

'T is hushed and dark where soared the lark. 
And so, and so my heart was wrung ! 

93 



94 THE ARMENIAN MOTHER 

Before my eyes, they sent the hail 
Upon my green pomegranate-tree — 

Upon the bough where only now 
A rosy apple bent to me. 

They shook my beauteous almond-tree, 
Beating its glorious bloom to death — 

They strewed it round upon the ground, 
And mocked its fragrant dying breath, 

I was a mother, and I weep; 

I seek the rose where nestleth none-=- 
No more is heard the singing bird — 

I have no little golden son! 

So fall the shadows over me. 
The blighted garden, lonely nest. 

Reach down in love, O God above ! 
And fold my darling to thy breast 



HEIGHO, MY DEARIE 

A MOONBEAM floateth from the skies. 
Whispering : " Heigho, my dearie ; 
I would spin a web before your eyes — 
A beautiful web of silver light 
Wherein is many a wondrous sight 
Of a radiant garden leagues away, 
Where the softly tinkling Hlies sway 
And the snow-white lambkins are at play* 
Heigho, my dearie!" 

A brownie stealeth from the vine. 

Singing : " Heigho, my dearie ; 
And will you hear this song of mine — 
A song of the land of murk and mist 
Where bideth the bud the dew hath kist? 

95 



96 HEIGHO, MY DEARIE 

Then let the moonbeam's web of light 
Be spun before thee silvery white, 
And I shall sing the livelong night — 
Heigho, my dearie ! " 

The night wind speedeth from the sea, 
Murmuring : " Heigho, my dearie ; 

I bring a mariner's prayer for thee; 

So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes. 

And the brownie sing thee lullabies-— 

But I shall rock thee to and fro, 

Kissing the brow he loveth so. 

And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow^ 
Heigho, my dearie!" 



TO A USURPER 

Aha! a traitor in the camp, 
, A rebel strangely bold, — 
A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp. 
Not more than four years old! 

To think that I, who 've ruled alone 

So proudly in the past, 
Should be ejected from my throne 

By my own son at last! 

He trots his treason to and fro, 

As only babies can. 
And says he '11 be his mamma's beau 

When he 's a " gweat, big man " ! 

You stingy boy! you 've always had 

A share in mamma's heart. 
Would you begrudge your poor old dad 

The tiniest little part? 

97 



98 TO A USURPER 

That mamma, I regret to see, 
Inclines to take your part, — 

As if a dual monarchy 

Should rule her gentle heart! 

But when the years of youth have sped. 

The bearded man, I trow, 
Will quite forget he ever said 

He 'd be his mamma's beau. 

Renounce your treason, Httle son,- 
Leave mamma's heart to me; 

For there will come another one 
To claim your loyalty. 

And when that other comes to you, 
God grant her love may shine 

Through all your life, as fair and true 
As mamma's does through mine ! 



THE BELL-FLOWER TREE 

WHEN brother Bill and I were boys, 
How often in the summer we 
Would seek the shade your branches made, 

O fair and gracious bell-flower tree! 
Amid the clover bloom we sat 

And looked upon the Holyoke range, 
While Fido lay a space away, 
Thinking our silence very strange. 

The woodchuck in the pasture-lot, 

Beside his furtive hole elate, 
Heard, off beyond the pickerel pond, 

The redwing-blackbird chide her mate. 
The bumblebee went bustling round, 

Pursuing labors never done — 
With drone and sting, the greedy thing 

Begrudged the sweets we lay upon! 

99 



L.ofC. 



lOO THE BELL-FLOWER TREE 

Our eyes looked always at the hills — 

The Holyoke hills that seemed to stand 
Between us boys and pictured joys 

Of conquest in a further land! 
Ah, how we coveted the time 

When we should leave this prosy place 
And work our wills beyond those hills, 

And meet creation face to face! 

You must have heard our childish talk — 

Perhaps our prattle gave you pain; 
For then, old friend, you seemed to bend 

Your kindly arms about us twain. 
It might have been the wind that sighed, 

And yet I thought I heard you say: 
"Seek not the ills beyond those hills — 

Oh, stay with me, my children, stay!" 

See, I Ve come back; the boy you knew 
Is wiser, older, sadder grown; 

I come once more, just as of yore — 
I come, but see ! I come alone I 



THE BELL-FLOWER TREE loi 

The memory of a brother's love, 
Of blighted hopes, I bring with me, 

And here I lay my heart to-day — 
A weary heart, O bell-flower tree! 

So let me nestle in your shade 

As though I were a boy again, 
And pray extend your arms, old friend. 

And love me as you used to then. 
Sing softly as you used to sing. 

And maybe I shall seem to be 
A little boy and feel the joy 

Of thy repose, O bell-flower tree! 



FAIRY AND CHILD 

OH, listen, little Dear-My-Soul, 
To the fairy voices calling, 
Foi the moon is high in the misty sky 

And the honey dew is falling; 
lb the midnight feast in the clover bloom 

The bluebells are a-ringing. 
And it 's " Come away to the land of fay " 
That the katydid is singing. 

Oh, slumber, little Dear-My-Soul, 

And hand in hand we '11 wander — 
Hand in hand to the beautiful land 

Of Balow, away off yonder; 
Or we '11 sail along in a lily leaf 

Into the white moon's halo — 
Over a stream of mist and dream 

Into the land of Balow. 



FAIRY AND CHILD 103 

Or, you shall have two beautiful wings — 

Two gossamer wings and airy, 
And all the while shall the old moon smile 

And think you a little fairy; 
And you shall dance in the velvet sky, 

And the silvery stars shall twinkle 
And dream sweet dreams as over their beams 

Your footfalls softly tinkle. 



THE GRANDSIRE 

[LOVED him so; his voice had grown 
Into my heart, and now to hear 
The pretty song he had sung so long 

Die on the Hps to me so dear! 
He a child with golden curls, 

And I with head as white as snow — 
\ knelt down there and made this pray'r: 
"God, let me be the first to go!" 

How often I recall it now: 

My darling tossing on his bed, 
I sitting there in mute despair. 

Smoothing the curls that crowned his head. 
They did not speak to me of death — 

A feeling here had told me so; 
What could I say or do but pray 

That I might be the first to go? 
104 



THE GRANDSIRE 105 

Yet, thinking of him standing there 

Out yonder as the years go by, 
Waiting for me to come, I see 

'T was better he shoulu wait, not I. 
For when I walk the vale of death, 

Above the wail of Jordan's flow 
Shall rise a song that shall make me strong— 

The call of the child that was first to go. 



HUSHABY, SWEET MY OWN 

FAIR is the castle up on the hill — 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
The night is fair, and the waves are still. 
And the wind is singing to you and to me 
In this lowly home beside the sea — 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

On yonder hill is store of wealth — 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 
And revelers drink to a little one's health; 
But you and I bide night and day 
For the other love that has sailed away — 

Hushaby, sweet my own! 

See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep 

Ghostlike, O my own! 
Out of the mists of the murmuring deep; 
Oh, see them not and make no cry 
Till the angels of death have passed us by- 

Hushaby, sweet my own! 
106 



HUSHABY, SWEET MY OWN 107 

Ah, little they reck of you and me — 

Hushaby, sweet my own! 
In our lonely home beside the sea; 
They seek the castle up on the hill, 
And there they will do their ghostly will — 

Hushaby, O my own! 

Here by the sea a mother croons 
" Hushaby, sweet my own ! " 
In yonder castle a mother swoons 
While the angels go down to the misty deep 
Bearing a little one fast asleep — 
Hushaby., sweet my own! 



CHILD AND MOTHER 

OMOTHER-MY-LOVE, if you '11 give me your 
hand, 
And go where I ask you to wander, 
I will lead you away to a beautiful land — 

The Dreamland that 's waiting out yonder. 

We '11 walk in a sweet-posie garden out there 

Where moonlight and starlight are streaming 

And the flowers and the birds are filling the air 

With the fragrance and music of dreaming. 

There '11 be no little tired-out boy to undress, 

No questions or cares to perplex you; 
There '11 be no Httle bruises or bumps to caress, 

Nor patching of stockings to vex you. 
For I '11 rock you away on a silver-dew stream, 

And sing you asleep when you 're weary. 
And no one shall know of our beautiful dream 

But you and your own little dearie, 

io8 



CHILD AND MOTHER 109 

And when I am tired I '11 nestle my head 

In the bosom that 's soothed me so often, 
And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my 
stead 
A song which our dreaming shall soften. 
So, Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear 
hand, 
And away through the starlight we '11 wan- 
der — 
Away through the mist to the beautiful land — 
The Dreamland that 's waiting out yonder! 



c 



MEDIEVAL EVENTIDE SONG 

OME hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my 

breast to-night, 
For yonder fares an angell yclad In raimaunt 

white. 
And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells 

may. 
And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh 

farre awaye. 

To them that have no lyttel childe Godde 

sometimes sendeth down 
A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel angell of his 

owne; 
And if so bee they love that childe, he will- 

eth it to staye, 
But elsewise, in his mercie, he taketh it awaye. 



MEDIEVAL EVENTIDE SONG in 

And sometimes, though they love it, Godde 

yearneth for ye childe, 
And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben 

beguiled; 
They fold their arms about ye lamb that 

croodleth at his play, 
And beare him to ye garden that bloometh 

farre awaye. 

I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde 
hath lent to me ; 

If I colde sing that angell songe, how joy- 
some I sholde be ! 

For, with mine arms about him, and my mu- 
sick in his eare. 

What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I 
feare ? 



Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my 

breast to-night, 
For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt 

white, 



112 MEDIEVAL EVENTIDE SONG 

And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells 

may, 
And his songe ben of a garden that bloom- 

eth farre awaye. 



ARMENIAN LULLABY 

IF thou wilt shut thy drowsy eyes, 
My mulberry one, my golden sun ! 
The rose shall sing thee lullabies. 

My pretty cosset lambkin ! 
And thou shalt swing in an almond-tree, 
With a flood of moonbeams rocking thee- 
A silver boat in a golden sea, 

My velvet love, my nestling dove, 
My own pomegranate blossom! 

The stork shall guard thee passing well 
All night, my sweet! my dimple-feet! 

And bring thee myrrh and asphodel. 
My gentle rain-of-springtime ! 
113 



114 ARMENIAN LULLABY 

And for thy slumbrous play shall twine 
The diamond stars with an emerald vine 
To trail in the waves of ruby wine, 
My myrtle bloom, my heart's perfume, 
My little chirping sparrow! 

And when the mom wakes up to see 

My apple bright, my soul's delight! 

The partridge shall come calling thee. 

My jar of milk-and-honey ! 
Yes, thou shalt know what mystery Hes 
In the amethyst deep of the curtained skies, 
If thou wilt fold thy onyx eyes. 
You wakeful one, you naughty son. 
You cooing little turtle! 



CHRISTMAS TREASURES 

1 COUNT my treasures o'er with care,— 
The Httle toy my darHng knew, 
A httle sock of faded hue, 
A Httle lock of golden hair. 

Long years ago this holy time. 
My little one — my all to me — 
Sat robed in white upon my knee, 

And heard the merry Christmas chime. 

'• Tell me, my little golden-head, 

If Santa Claus should come to-night, 
What shall he bring my baby bright,- 
What treasure for my boy?" I said. 

"5 



ii6 CHRISTMAS TREASURES 

And then he named this little toy, 
While in his round and mournful eyes 
There came a look of sweet surprise, 

That spake his quiet, trustful joy. 

And as he lisped his evening prayer 
He asked the boon with childish grace; 
Then, toddling to the chimney-place. 

He hung this little stocking there. 

That night, while lengthening shadows crept 
I saw the white-winged angels come 
With singing to our lowly home 

And kiss my darling as he slept. 

They must have heard his little prayer, 
For in the morn, with rapturous face. 
He toddled to the chimney-place. 

And found this little treasure there. 

They came again one Christmas-tide,— 
That angel host, so fair and white; 
And, singing all that glorious night, 

They lured my darling from my side. 



CHRISTMAS TREASURES 117 

A little sock, a little toy, 
A little lock of golden hair, 
The Christmas music on the air, 

A watching for my baby boy ! 

But if again that angel train 

And golden-h^ad come oack for me, 

To bear me tc Eternity 
vlj/ svaTcmn^ vvii not le n, rain. 



OH, LITTLE CHII D 

HUSH, little one, and fold your hands— 
The sun hath set, the moon is high; 
The sea is singing to the sands, 

And wakeful posies are beguiled 
By many a fairy lullaby — 

Hush, little child — my Httle child! 

Dream, little one, and in your dreams 

Float upward from this lowly place — 
Float out on mellow, misty streams 
To lands where bideth Mary mild. 
And let her kiss thy little face, 
You little child — my little child! 



OH, LITTLE CHILD 119 

Sleep, little one, and take thy rest — 

With angels bending over thee, 
Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast 

Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled — 
But stay not there — come back to me, 
Oh, little child — 7ny little child! 



GANDERFEATHER'S GIFT 

1WAS just a little thing 
When a fairy came and kissed me; 
Floating in upon the light 
Of a haunted summer night, 
Lo, the fairies came to sing 
Pretty slumber songs and bring 

Certain boons that else had missed me. 
From a dream I turned to see 
What those strangers brought for me, 
When that fairy up and kissed me — 
Here, upon this cheek, he kissed me! 

Simmerdew was there, but she 
Did not like me altogether; 
Daisybright and Turtledove, 
Pilfercurds and Honey love, 
Thistleblow and Amberglee 
On that gleaming, ghostly sea 



GANDERFEATHER'S GIFT 121 

Floated from the misty heather, 
And around my trundle-bed 
Frisked, and looked, and whispering said — - 

Solemnlike and all together: 
"y(?u shall kiss him, Ganderfeather ! " 

Ganderfeather kissed me then — 

Ganderfeather, quaint and merry! 
No attenuate sprite was he, 
— But as buxom as could be; — 
Kissed me twice, and once again^ 
And the others shouted when 

On my cheek uprose a berry 
Somewhat Hke a mole, mayhap, 
But the kiss-mark of that chap 

Ganderfeather, passing merry — 

Humorsome, but kindly, very ! 

I was just a tiny thing 

When the prankish Ganderfeather 
Brought this curious gift to me 
With his fairy kisses three; 
Yet with honest pride I sing 



132 GANDERFEATHER'S GIFT 

That same gift he chose to bring 
Out of yonder haunted heather. 
Other charms and friendships fly — 
Constant friends this mole and I, 
Who have been so long together. 
Thank you, Httle Ganderfeather ! 



BAMBINO 

BAMBINO in his cradle slept; 
And by his side his grandam grim 
Bent down and smiled upon the child, 
And sung this lullaby to him, — 
This " ninna and anninia " : 

" When thou art older, thou shalt mind 
To traverse countries far and wide, 
And thou shalt go where roses blow 
And balmy waters singing glide — 
So ninna and anninia! 

"And thou shalt wear, trimmed up in points, 
A famous jacket edged in red, 
And, more than that, a peaked hat. 
All decked in gold, upon thy head — 
Ah! ninna and anninia! 
123 



124 BAMBINO 

" Then shalt thou carry gun and knife, 
Nor shall the soldiers bully thee; 
Perchance, beset by wrong or debt, 
A mighty bandit thou shalt be^ 
So ninna and anninial 

"No woman yet of our proud race 

Lived to her fourteenth year unwed ^ 
The brazen churl that eyed a girl 

Bought her the ring or paid his head ^ 
So ninna and anninia! 

"But once came spies (I know the thieves!) 
And brought disaster to our race; 
God heard us when our fifteen men 

Were hanged within the market-place— 
But ninna and anninia! 

" Good men they were, my babe, and true,— 
Right worthy fellows all, and strong; 
Live thou and be for them and me 
Avenger of that deadly wrong — 
So ninna and anninia ! " 



LITTLE HOMER'S SLATE 

AFTER dear old grandma died, 
Hunting through an oaken chest 
In the attic, we espied 

What repaid our childish quest; 
'T was a homely little slate, 
Seemingly of ancient date. 

On its quaint and battered face 

Was the picture of a cart, 
Drawn with all that awkward grace 

Which betokens childish art; 
But what meant this legend, pray: 
"Homer drew this yesterday"? 
125 



13^ LITTLE HOMER'S SLATE 

Mother recollected then 

What the years were fain to hide- 
She was but a baby when 

Little Homer lived and died; 
Forty years, so mother said, 
Little Homer had been dead. 

This one secret through those years 
Grandma kept from all apart, 

Hallowed by her lonely tears 
And the breaking of her heart ; 

While each year that sped away 

Seemed to her but yesterday. 

So the homely little slate 

Grandma's baby's fingers pressed. 

To a memory consecrate, 
Lieth in the oaken chest. 

Where, unwilling we should know, 

Grandma put it, years ago. 



m 



